Doping denialists gang tackle the messenger

Can we stop blowing smoke? Can we ignore those who make character judgments based on the amiability of lunch companions? Can we get this clear?

The blight on the NRL is the possibility that players at Cronulla, and perhaps elsewhere, took performance-enhancing drugs. Not the inconvenience players might experience when asked to put on their best thongs and answer some difficult questions.

Sign of the times: Sharks supporters protest after the coach was an early casualty of the doping scandal that engulfed the club on the eve of the season. Photo: Getty Images

In recent days, the levels of self-pity and self-delusion in NRL circles around the ASADA investigation have reached absurd levels.

Partly, this has been prompted by the debate about whether News Ltd should have published a risk assessment attached to a report into Cronulla's supplement program which raised the potential for a "causal link" between peptide use and the advance of Jon Mannah's Hodgkin's lymphoma.

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The NRL's public response was to initiate an investigation into the leaking of the report. Then, on Tuesday, a joint statement from club CEOs condemned the way in which the Mannah story had been presented.

Naturally, the NRL should be doing everything possible to protect players who might have been – as we have acknowledged – unwitting victims of poor club protocols and allegedly deceitful practices. The sensitivities of the Mannah family are paramount. But the NRL has picked the easy target. Two barrels aimed squarely at the messenger.

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That approach in turn fuels the righteous indignation of those who believe the ASADA inquisitors are the game's true evil. Not those in the NRL and AFL whose dubious practices have prompted allegations that banned substances were used by six players at the Essendon club.

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Then there is the argument offered by some pundits that NRL players should not be subjected to ASADA interviews until there is irrefutable evidence of wrongdoing. As if only those with more puncture marks than Phil "The Power" Taylor's dartboard should be compelled to testify.

Yet, as we are constantly reminded, catching drug cheats is now a matter of forensic investigation, rather than routine testing. The days when you confronted a hulking steroid monster with a test tube filled with steaming fluorescent urine are gone.

Accordingly, interviews are a vital aspect of detection. Yes, allegations should be based on firm evidence. But, as in any investigation, the interview itself is part of the evidence-gathering process. It might precede and/or follow the revelation of further evidence.

Ensuring the players' rights are protected is a matter for the NRL, the clubs, the Rugby League Players' Association and personal lawyers. You cannot expect ASADA to both prosecute the case and provide shelter. Nor can it be blamed for exerting the maximum pressure allowable to gather evidence.

The great pity for the Sharks players is that they were part of a shambolic organisation ill-prepared to withstand an investigation into the result of the club chook raffle. Let alone the systematic administration of allegedly banned peptides.

The players maintain the right to silence, and can choose not to implicate others. But the WADA code suggests that, if they are found to have offended, silence comes at a cost. They will forfeit the possibility of having bans reduced from two years to six months.

The attitude of NRL players is reflected in a Rugby League Week poll in which they were asked if the ASADA investigation was ruining the game. Fifty-two per cent said it was. As push-polling goes, that was a "have you stopped beating your wife" proposition. What NRL players should have been asked is whether the suspected use of banned substances was ruining the game. Because it is the cause, not the consequence, that has created the stench.

Meanwhile, clubs are angry ASADA interviews are interfering with training. As if pumping a few more weights is more important than finding out why certain players could put so many kilograms on the end of the bar.

Such priorities reflect an introverted game protected, until now, from the real-world consequences of drug cheating. The same people who would sneer at the dopers who deprived our "Aussie heroes" of Olympic glory recoil at the procedures used to detect and punish cheats here.

It is an environment fostered by politicians who did not want the feelgood photo opportunities provided by sporting glory sullied. One that, consequently, left the agencies responsible for cleaning up this mess under-resourced. And an easy target for those who wish they would go away.